Once a Charmer Read online

  “Okay, okay,” she said, holding said phone up. “I will. I was just saying that y’all have been weird lately. Normally, you’d have this all arranged and set up and probably giving each other grief about who was doing the teaching, but he hasn’t even come over for coffee in forever.”

  Dryness scratched at my throat. “I know,” I said. Did I know? Did I know anything? “He’s probably just been busy.”

  She cut her eyes at me in a way that a girl her age shouldn’t be savvy enough to do.

  “Something happen between y’all to make him be busy?” she asked.

  My heart skipped ahead. “Why would you ask that?” I said.

  “Because you get all—” Angel wiggled her fingers at me as she looked me up and down. “Like that every time his name comes up.”

  I waved her off and frowned and mentally imagined banging my head on the steering wheel.

  “No, of course not,” I said, pushing all thoughts I shouldn’t be having away to pick up one of her new magazines and fan myself. “Life is just—so why are you getting him to teach you to drive?” I asked instead. “When your mother is right here?”

  She turned her head to me in an exaggerated pose. “My mother, who’s now famous for riding through town like a crazed hillbilly in the back of Mr. Hart’s pickup truck? Jumping in while it was moving, from what I’ve heard?”

  I rubbed at my eyes. “Okay, time to let that horse die, already,” I said. “It’s been months—”

  “Oh no,” Angel said. “That little gem will never die. I still hear about it at school.”

  “Fabulous,” I muttered.

  “Truly,” she said, a smartass smirk on her face.

  “I was grabbing the quickest ride I could,” I said. “Bash—was in danger.”

  I licked my lips as I said it, remembering the absolute terror that had rocketed through me, and what that had driven me to do.

  Don’t go there.

  “From a flare gun?” she said.

  “I didn’t know it was a flare gun,” I said. “I just—” I just heard gun and all I knew was that I had to get to him. Now, what was he doing to me? Was he involved? I shook my head. “Anyway, that has nothing to do with your driving.”

  “It has everything to do with the jokes I’ll have to endure if anyone sees me driving with you,” she said. “So, Uncle Bash please.”

  “Angel, he’s—”

  “He makes me laugh, Mom,” she said, getting to the real point. “And I don’t get defensive when he tells me I suck.” She shrugged. “I miss him.”

  I flexed my fingers and faced forward, nodding. I’d be lying if I said that didn’t stab me in the gut, because he was the closest thing to a father that Angel had ever known. He had gone into the Marines when she was a baby, but had been there for every major moment since. First everything: softball games, school plays, phone calls when she was mad at me and needed that dad-like person to rant to.

  “Well, who am I to get in the way of someone else telling you that you suck,” I said, turning into the bakery parking lot. “Y’all knock yourselves out. Take the Girl Scout cookies you scammed from the neighbors, too. I can’t quit eating them.”

  Angel’s eyes lit up as we rounded the menu board like she was six instead of almost sixteen.

  “Lemon?” I asked, knowing the answer. “Or something else?”

  “Lemon-filled donut, please.” She grinned my way all silly. “I looovvvvve you.”

  “Mm-hmm,” I said on a chuckle. “It’s your feverish delirium.”

  “You know, I could get my own donuts if you got me a car,” Angel said.

  “You don’t have your license yet, freak,” I said.

  “But I will in a few months,” she said. “And I could go get lots of things. Groceries. Ice cream. Supplies for school projects.”

  “Tickets,” I responded. “Ten-car pileups.”

  I drooled looking at the menu, myself. I shouldn’t, but I was going to. I could have something ten times more awesome, nutritious, and probably even tastier at the diner. Nick would whip me up anything I wanted, but this morning’s lopsided beginning and horrible, terrible, no-good, very bad news had me needing empty calories in the form of thick glazed sugar, creamy sweet filling, and melt-in-your-mouth carb-loaded gooey warm donut.

  “Your faith in me is astounding,” she said. “Hey speaking of Uncle Bash, isn’t that his truck? Is that his new building?”

  I had pulled all the way around the building to that point in the drive-thru where a change of heart or conscience is no longer an option because you’re trapped within those little curb guides. And there it was with no doubt, the back end of Bash’s truck, distinguished by the BEEMAN license plate and a few inches of the Anderson’s Apiary logo magnet showing on the door. It was parked in front of the building next door that had been created to look like a woodsman’s cottage, and I knew it to be one of the new retail spots he’d snagged as part of the Lucky Charm complex. His apiary was a little off the beaten path, understandably. One doesn’t smack a bunch of bees in the middle of a high retail area. So all the products he made from the honey and the wax, he had to cart around to place at other retail sites on commission or whatever that retailer was willing to do in trade for showing his wares. Bash sold online as well, but he had wanted to add a more dedicated local retail presence to his business for a long time. I was happy for him. I hadn’t gotten to tell him that, yet, and to be honest I didn’t even know it was open, so the shit-friend of the year award was definitely on the table.

  “Yep, that’s it,” I said.

  “I could hop out and go run and talk to him real quick,” Angel said, reaching for her seat belt fastener.

  “Or you could call him later,” I said, pulling to the window. “Like when you get home and are lying in bed or doing whatever this project is for next week. I have to get to work.”

  “Killjoy,” she muttered.

  “Happy morning to you!” a lady chirped from the window, making us both jump at the loud.

  “Oh, wow.”

  “Jesus,” Angel said under her breath.

  Okay, a little too bouncy for that time of the morning. Even for a service industry. If I was that singsongy at the diner first thing in the morning, somebody would slap me with a pancake.

  “What can I get for you?” she said robustly.

  “One Bavarian cream filled, please,” I said, purposely using my inside voice as a hint. “And one lemon filled.”

  “Awesome blossom,” she sang. Literally sang. Her nametag had smiley emoji stickers on it and read Hi! I’m Maxie! “One mo-ment-o.”

  “Good grief,” I muttered, rubbing my eyes as Maxie nearly skipped away.

  “That’s so not normal,” Angel whispered.

  “Yeah, I don’t know if it’s worth it.”

  “Allie Greene Bean!” said a male voice that both startled me for the second time and made me want to dive into the back seat.

  I head-jerked around to see a guy in a red apron and a black collared shirt, strawberry-blond hair slicked and spiked up, and way-too-white teeth.

  “Alan!” I said in a pretend excited tone. “Why—are you in the bakery window?”

  Alan Bowman. Town narcissist. Asshole. Blowhard. Graduated with me, and probably never knew it until I took over the diner from my dad.

  He tugged on his collar as if that was supposed to tell me something.

  “I’m the manager,” he said proudly. “And the owner.”

  “Of the—” I shook my head before I said something offensive. There was nothing wrong with managing a food establishment. I’d done it most of my adult life. But Alan Bowman was not someone I’d ever imagine stooping to do such menial work. He dabbled in beekeeping for a time, or so I’d heard, but mostly he made his money in investments. Above and below the table. He tried to swindle Nick’
s wife out of her inheritance over the summer and had laid low ever since. “I didn’t realize you were a baker.”

  “Oh, I’m not,” Alan said, laughing.

  “So—what made you decide to—get in the bakery business?” I asked, my fingers pulling up the neckline of my shirt as his eyes fell there.

  “Well, with all the flashy new businesses going up down here, it would be dumb not to grab a piece of the pie,” he said, flashing teeth. “So to speak. Anything up on Main is yesterday’s news now.”

  On Main. Where my diner was. Nice. “Really?”

  “Not talking about your little place, of course,” he amended with a wink.

  I smiled. “Of course.”

  “How’s your dad doing?” he asked, for one split second appearing to care. “Last time I talked to him—damn it must have been almost a year ago. You know, when he was having those financial issues,” he said in a lowered voice.

  I held my smile perfectly, thanks to a lifetime of practice. Tried not to think too hard on just what financial issues Alan Bowman assisted my dad with.

  “He’s fine,” I lied. What did it matter? “How’s your buddy, the ex-mayor?” I asked. “You know, since he went all rogue on Bash’s bees?”

  Alan’s expression tightened a little. “I think he’s good,” he said, glancing around as if the next topic—any topic—could be floating by to grab. “He’s kind of kept to himself.”

  “Oh really?” I said. “I see Dean in the diner all the time looking like Grizzly Adams and talking to himself. But I guess stealing your friend’s livelihood and then pulling a flare gun on him can send you a little over the edge.”

  Alan was nodding and smiling which was really just a show of teeth.

  “And you?” he said, tilting his head. “I heard—”

  “Angel is about to start driving,” I interjected, grabbing her hand and yanking her closer.

  “Oh wow, seriously,” Angel said under her breath.

  Alan leaned down to see Angel. “Sweet little Angel Food Cake is old enough to drive?”

  Angel’s pretty little lined eyes said so many not sweet, crass, and rude things he’d never know about before she gave a snarky smile.

  “Hi,” she said, lifting her hand in a limp wave.

  “My goodness,” he said. “I remember when your mother was pregnant with you. Has it been that many years?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, thinking bullshit as loudly as my thoughts would manage. If it weren’t for Bash and I being friends and my running the diner, Alan Bowman wouldn’t even know my name.

  “Oh, hey Bash.”

  My head jerked back to the right as dark hair and striking blue eyes were suddenly filling the passenger window. The same eyes I’d seen in my dream last night. That had burned right through me as I’d rushed into a room three months ago not knowing what to expect and flung myself into his arms in eternal relief that he wasn’t shot. Or flared. The same eyes that went impossibly dark as I’d pulled back and—kissed him. That had closed as he kissed me back and—

  The same eyes that had looked at me earlier this morning right before he possibly screwed me over.

  I swallowed hard over the flips my stomach was doing and held my chin up as Angel lowered the window and they did their finger-knuckle-knock-front-back goofy little hand jive thing they’d done since she was six.

  “Allie,” he said, a hint of a kind-of-sad, kind-of-amused smile in his expression.

  “Bash.”

  My heart broke a little more.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Um, Mom?”

  I blinked away and cleared my throat.

  “Sorry I startled y’all,” Bash said. “I know better than to just walk up to someone’s window like that.” He leaned his forearms on the top of the window. Oh God, those arms. The things he’d done that he wasn’t even aware of.

  Stop.

  “No kidding,” Angel said. “I could have stabbed you with—” She stopped to look around and he chuckled. “This pen!”

  Bash had a long sleeved black T-shirt on with his logo in gold over the pocket. He threw a quick polite glance my way before looking playfully at Angel. I wanted to punch him.

  Polite?

  God, it was revolting. We didn’t do nice and polite. Bash and I were always without boundaries. Inappropriate. Laughing and joking and finishing each other’s thoughts. We were easy. Now, because he was somehow involved with the dickhead bookie railroading me out of my diner, and because I was an emotionally reactive idiot, we were hard. We were polite.

  That was really irritating.

  “True,” he said. “I’ll be smarter next time. Why aren’t you at school?”

  “I’m sick,” she said, tilting her head to sell it.

  “And you want to go driving with me tonight?” he said.

  “I’ll be better by then,” she said.

  I scoffed. “Shocking.” At his locked in gaze, I panicked. “So, that’s—congrats on the new building,” I said, gesturing that way. Good God, that was lame.

  “Thanks,” he said, not blinking.

  Awkward. Awesome.

  “Hey, we still on for driving lessons tonight?” Angel asked, tugging on a thumb that hung down.

  I saw the flash go through his eyes that said he either forgot or had a conflict of some sort. Probably a date. Or maybe he didn’t want to risk lip molestation again.

  “Sure thing,” he said.

  “You don’t have to,” I said, making Angel give me a look.

  “Mom!”

  “I’m just saying, it’s my responsibility. I can do this, you don’t—”

  “I’ve got it,” Bash said, settling his gaze on me and making mine fall to his lips, which sent me reeling into every hot microsecond of that brief oh-my-God-heat-and-fireworks that flipped fifteen years of normal upside down. At least for me. “But can we use this?” he was saying, tapping on the Jeep.

  I raised an eyebrow and blinked away.

  “What, you afraid to use your truck?” I asked.

  “Little bit.”

  “Hey!” Angel said, swinging a fist sideways and missing him.

  “You still seeing that little carnie chick?” Alan asked, nodding through my windows at Bash and reminding us he was there with all the tact of a bulldozer.

  The expression on Bash’s face said that if he could have reached Alan he would have slapped him upside the head. Which at least was a tiny sliver of something, saying either one, he recognized that talking about another woman in front of the woman that laid a big kiss on him was uncool or two, he was still ignoring that and just pissed off that Alan reduced her to that little carnie chick.

  “Her name is Kia, you imbecile,” Bash said. Well, that answered that question. “And not that it’s your business, but no, we were never dating.”

  “Really?” Alan said, making a face. “What would you call it?”

  “I called it sex,” Bash said, covering Angel’s ears while she rolled her eyes. “I didn’t realize that was confusing.”

  “I’m not five,” Angel said.

  Kia had been with the Lucky Hart carnival when it came through our little town over the summer, and stayed behind with Sully Hart to work on the new project. She and Bash worked on each other a bit, as well, not that anyone could blame them. Kia was stunning, and Bash was a major catch. Gorgeous, funny, with the body of an ex-marine and the confidence of one of the most successful business owners in town. He was a hot commodity, and it was nothing new to see females on his arm or in his wake.

  I never had a problem with that. Even with someone who’d been here all of two minutes and had every man in town panting and every woman wanting to be her.

  “Kia,” Alan said, snapping his fingers. “That’s right. Hey, no offense, I just didn’t know what she’d think about the King
and Queen nomination. Not that you’ll win,” he added quickly. “Because Katrina and I will totally kill it.”

  I peered up at him questioningly, but that didn’t make his babble any more logical. Glancing back at Bash told me he was just as in the dark.

  “What?” I asked.

  “The King and Queen Bee inauguration to kick off opening the park,” Alan said, gesturing out the window. “You got the nomination cards in the mail.”

  “Uh—yeah?” I said. “For about five minutes till they went in the trash.”

  “Ditto,” Bash said.

  Embossed cards went out to every business owner last month, asking for nominations for a new Charmed tradition. Two people to be chosen each year as the face and representatives of Charmed. King Bee and Queen Bee.

  Yes.

  I know.

  Welcome to small-town hell.

  “I know, it was kind of cheesy,” Alan said.

  “Cheesy?” I said. “It’s ridiculous. Who came up with such a thing?”

  “The Chamber of Commerce,” Alan said, pointing. “You’ve—missed a few breakfasts.”

  “I’ve missed where you became a member,” Bash said, moving his arms down to rest on the bottom of Angel’s window. Thank you, I appreciate that.

  “A few months back,” he said, nodding. “When the Lucky Charm sale went down and I knew I’d be doing this, I registered. Katrina did, too.”

  I frowned. “Katrina? What business does she have?”

  “Oh, she does nails now,” Alan said. “She filed for a business permit, and has the mother-in-law room smelling of that acrylic powder stuff.” He wiggled his fingers at me like I’d get it.

  I wiggled my nubby non-acrylic’d fingers back at him since we were bonding.

  “Can you check on our donuts?” I asked. “We’re kinda late.”

  “Maxie!” he turned and yelled. “Are you making them from scratch?” He turned back and sighed as if the enormity of his world was too heavy. “So, they’ve hired a PR firm and everything to handle all the promotion,” Alan said. “The Sharp Group. It’s to coincide with the grand opening of the complex in a few weeks.”